Ore no Ryoushin
by AlienYak
Summary: Bakura gets a conscience, but not your average one. No, this one is hell-bent on making him 'good', and has no plans to leave anytime soon. No pairings yet...


DISCLAIMER: I don't own YGO.  
  
Chapter 1: I didn't think you had a conscience, let alone one so cute!  
  
"Okay, that's it. I will be rid of this stupid thing if it's the last thing I do! ...today at least."  
  
Narrowed ruby eyes, bristling white hair and a general sense of fury radiating off the young teen sent people scattering away in fear. He paid them no heed as he stamped down the street angrily, occasionally sending cobblestones flying at those unfortunate -or otherwise stupid- enough to stay anywhere near him. Though they could not ask this angry teen why he was in such a state, those far away hazarded a guess. A particularly fearless teacher perhaps, who'd dared to assign work to him. Some irritating little punk who'd challenged him for supremacy over his gang, perhaps. A drug deal gone wrong, confiscation of weapons, jail term, or maybe....  
  
Another bank heist gone wrong today?  
  
They recognised him when he was far away. Yes, this was that legendary bank robber, Bakura, who'd pulled off 3000 consecutive heists successfully, laughing at the police each time they failed to catch him. After a while, most had given up except for the odd officer foolishly craving a promotion, but lately... lately, every officer was keen to give it a go.  
  
For it seemed that the great bank robber had lost his touch. Or at least the sadistic side of it.  
  
No longer could he threaten the police. Well, he could still glare murderously at the policemen and give them nightmares for the next couple of decades or so, or snarl curses at them until they'd faint from having way too much blood in their heads, and then there was the occasional broken bone or two. And he could still pull of an escape like a master illusionist. But there was nothing permanent. No lost eye, no missing leg or hand, no collection of hieroglyphical scars that said Ra only knew what, and of course, no corpses.  
  
And lately, he was returning the money to the banks through various odd but stunning methods, as befitted an expert such as himself. People had to ask, "WHY?!" WHAT had catalysed such an astonishing, though evidently unwilling change? WHEN had this miraculous event begun? WHERE did it start? WHO could possibly be the cause? And HOW?  
  
Yuugi looked down at his notes and scowled. It looked like he'd have to go to different sources to find out. And none of these people were ones he'd want to bring home. He sighed. Being a journalist was a lot harder than he'd expected...  
  
***********  
  
"I can't take it anymore! I'm on the 56th page of the newspaper, right next to the comics section!" fumed Bakura, a.k.a the ex-greatest-bank-robber-in- the-history-of-Domino-city. "I should be on the first page, next to the part where Seto Kaiba is reportedly going bankrupt. No, I should have the front all to myself! Damn the world!"  
  
"I didn't know you're that desperate. 'sides, do you really want some hideous picture of your face plastered over the front of a newspaper so people can use it for a darts' board?"  
  
The currently-less-than-infamous-criminal turned to glare viciously at his blonde Egyptian roommate, who was currently stretched luxuriously over the sofa, channel surfing. He wasn't fooled for a second by the fancy gold trinkets, long hair and almost innocent eyes: Malik knew how to toy with people's minds while dicing them to pieces. Part of the reason Bakura had been conned into allowing him to stay in the apartment.  
  
"If they did that, I'd kill them," the albino stated matter-of-factly. "I don't care about those imbeciles, as long as I scare hell out of them. Which I can't, not while this bloody thing is bothering me."  
  
"Then tell me about it." With a single graceful movement, Malik sat up cross-legged and turned so that he was facing the bank robber.  
  
Bakura stalked to the couch and sat on one of the armrests, snatching up the remote and changing the channel. His movements were not as elegant, but only because he chose to let his temper flare. There was no one here after all, except that annoying blonde, who for some odd reason, he could trust with something like this. He could vent if he wanted.  
  
"October 12th," he spat out. "Bank robbery on Monash Street. Domino United, 2pm. Got 400 grand, then walked out. Police chased on their motorbikes, so I ran. Didn't have to, but it made it more interesting." Malik nodded in understanding; he'd done similar things, though in different circumstances. "I didn't see that stupid kid... wasn't he supposed to be at school anyway? So I bumped into him and he fell onto the road. He asked me to stop, but I ignored him and ran off, but when I was on the other end of the street I heard all these screams. I looked back, and there was this truck on the road."  
  
"He died?"  
  
Bakura shrugged. "Don't know. But that blasted memory, and the kid's voice... I keep hearing it, but it's always saying a different thing."  
  
"So it's been telling you to stop killing and stealing," Malik deduced. He leaned forward in interest. "Did you see what he looked like?"  
  
"No."  
  
There was a long pause. "Well," said the blonde. "It would appear that you have a conscience."  
  
"I already knew that," Bakura snapped irritably. "Do you have any useful information?"  
  
"Spirits that die before they are supposed to do many things, though essentially they can only do three: they exist, they haunt, and they wait until they can pass to the next life. Simple as that."  
  
"Oh you've got to fucking be kidding," swore the albino as the news sunk in. "I'm being haunted by some kid's spirit just because I killed him?! Shouldn't I have an entire horde around me then?"  
  
"Not true. Spirits will generally choose to stay with the person they believe is most likely to either restore them to their body or lead them to the afterlife," explained Malik. "For whatever reason, this spirit thinks you are that person. Obviously, they are either delusional, or as crazy as you are. I think it's quite a good match, don't you?"  
  
"I don't care if it's a good match or not, just tell me how to exorcise the bloody spirit so I can get on with my life."  
  
"Well... you'll have to return it to it's body I guess."  
  
"And just how do you propose I'll do that when I don't even know what the brat looks like?"  
  
"That is where I fit in," Malik replied, a broad grin splitting his face. Had any sane person been faced with such a scary expression, they would have jumped out the nearest window immediately, even if it was 7 stories up. Bakura did not fit into such a category and merely raised an eyebrow. "I have the ritualistic expertise to seperate a wandering ka from you. But... I'll need an exchange."  
  
Now Bakura was wary. An exchange with Malik could range from exchanging a can of soda to swapping an arm. Of course, he hadn't actually agreed to the latter, but right now, he was kind of desperate... "What do you want?"  
  
"Hmm..." The blonde Egyptian stood and walked around Bakura, thoughtfully inspecting the albino. "I don't suppose you'd part with a limb or any other body part, and you seem to like that murderous soul of yours for Osiris- knows-what-reason. Your clothes are a bit too big for me, though I could take the trench coat... And I know you'd rather impale me with your Ring before you'll give it to me. I can't take your tools 'cause you'll probably need them soon, so... perfect! Buy me a 4 litre tub of chocolate ice-cream everyday for the next month, and we'll call it quits."  
  
"You've got to be kidding. Fine! BLOOD PACT."  
  
Malik rolled his eyes. "Masochist." He took the offered knife and swiped his arm with it. Bakura took it back and cut open his arm as well, humming happily as he watched the blood drip onto the carpet.  
  
"That'll take ages to clean, you know. If you're going to bleed, please do so on tiles."  
  
"It's none of your business, you nosy git!" snapped Bakura. Then he noticed Malik staring. "What?"  
  
"Was I supposed to hear that?"  
  
"You can hear me now? Really?" the voice sounded quite excited. "I've been trying to talk to you for ages! You're so much more civilised than this guy!"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Can you show yourself?" asked Malik, ignoring Bakura's outburst.  
  
"Um... I think so..."  
  
A semi-transparent form seperated from the agitated bank-robber, and both Egyptians gaped. The 'brat' was an almost perfect copy of Bakura, save for a few minor differences that could easily be overlooked. Wider eyes, more brown than red; paler skin, bordering on alabaster; softer tresses and bangs; skinnier profile; more reserved attire. Plus, the prominent scowl/smirk/sneer generally present on Bakura's face was replaced by a calmer expression.  
  
Finally, Malik managed to hiss at Bakura, "Why didn't you introduce him sooner?!" 


End file.
